


Light in August

by synchronysymphony



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Artists, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, ep n r are bffs, just silly, phone fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-25 20:49:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13220979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/synchronysymphony/pseuds/synchronysymphony
Summary: Grantaire gets a new job at a community art center. His friends are ecstatic.





	Light in August

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Prettypettypansexual](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prettypettypansexual/gifts).



> Written for my lovely friend [Ren](http://tumblr.com/prettypettypansexual) for an art exchange we did! I can't make art, but I can write about art~ so please enjoy, darling!

"So I got a job," says Grantaire casually, lifting a large chopstickful of chow mein to his mouth. Eponine, seeing no better choice than to smack him as hard as she can, does so. 

"What the hell?"

"You got a job and you didn't tell me?"

"I'm telling you right now!"

"But like this? You have noodles in your mouth!"

"Is that bad?"

"Yeah! You're supposed to put on a suit and take me out to dinner and then go, _ooh by the way, I got a job_ , all fancy-like."

"My voice doesn't sound like that," protests Grantaire. "And besides, I don't start working until August. I can't afford to take you out to dinner."

Eponine steals some of his chow mein for herself and dumps vinegar on it. She figures that since she paid for take-out tonight, she has a free pass to eat as much as she wants. "What job is it?"

"Something in a new local art gallery-slash-community art center," says Grantaire. "I don't know exactly what I'm supposed to be doing, mind you. The guy in charge of it just patted me on the shoulder and called me son and told me I would be fine. It was weird."

"Really? Who is he?"

"This bigshot named Valjean. He's pretty famous in the art world, and he could've retired on all the money he's racked up, but instead he's opening this thing as a side job. He's still working, though, so he needed a manager."

"I wanna meet him."

"Eponine, no," cautions Grantaire, very real fear leaping onto his face. "Don't you dare—“

It's too late. Eponine has already texted the group chat, inviting them all to the grand opening next week. She puts away her phone with what she knows is a smug expression. 

"We're going to come support you."

Grantaire groans. "I was afraid of this."

"Asshole. How bad could it be, anyway?"

"That," says Grantaire. "Is exactly what I didn't want to find out."

\--

"Is this a Delacroix?" asks Enjolras, pointing to the painting in front of him. Grantaire shakes his head, inhumanly patient.

"No, Enjolras. This is a Chagall."

"Huh? Then what about that? Is that a Delacroix?"

"No, that's not a Delacroix either."

"Then what about that one?"

Eponine wanders away from the spectacle, deciding to give the two lovebirds their alone time, and goes up to Marius, who's stuttering and blushing and trying his best to talk to the owner's daughter. 

"Hello," she says.

The girl looks at her and smiles a clear, engaging smile, bright as the brushwork on a Vuillard. "Hi!"

"I'm Marius," Marius bursts out, the presence of another person finally giving him the courage to speak. The girl smiles at him.

"Hi, Marius. I'm Cosette."

"Hhhhhhhh," replies Marius, having reached his capacity. Eponine decides to step in. 

"I'm Eponine. It's so nice to meet you."

"You too! Isn't this exciting?"

"It is," says Eponine. She's about to go on, but at this moment, a crash startles them all, and they look over to see Bossuet standing over a broken vase, gaping down at it as if he can't believe what's just transpired.

"Oops," he says at last, which Eponine thinks is a bit of an understatement. Cosette winces.

"Ooh. My dad's going to be sad about that one."

"Was it really expensive?" asks Eponine with not a little trepidation. Bossuet won't be able to shell out thousands of dollars on demand to replace some priceless objet d'art. Cosette shakes her head.

"No, don't worry about that. It was just the first piece I ever made."

Even worse. Eponine groans. "I'm _so_ sorry."

"Really, don't worry about it," says Cosette, way too graciously, as Valjean starts making his way over to Bossuet, and Bossuet leaps across the gallery and shoves Enjolras in front of him. "Anyway, you're friends with Grantaire, right?"

"I am. We go way back." Eponine points to Grantaire, who's looking, confused, at tall, gangly Bossuet trying to hide behind tiny little Enjolras, but not making any move to help. "We've been through some shit together, seriously. I'd do anything for him."

"Even attend his gallery opening, I see," says Cosette. Eponine laughs.

"Are you kidding? I wouldn't miss this for anything."

"And all your friends, too. You're amazing."

"We love being here," says Eponine. "I mean, come on, this is classy as hell."

"These crab puffs are the best damn thing I've ever eaten," roars Bahorel in the background. Eponine nods. 

"See?"

"He's right, they _are_ amazing crab puffs," says Cosette. "I should know, I made them."

"You _made_ them?"

"From scratch."

"Are you a wizard?"

Cosette laughs, obviously flattered, but before she can say anything else, Valjean comes over, looking grim. 

"We have a problem."

"Oh dear. What is it?"

"Someone tried to steal the Delacroix."

Eponine groans. "Enjolras..."

"Enjolras?" asks Valjean, confused. "Who's that?"

"Your thief."

"No, the thief said his name was Montparnasse. What's--"

"Pardon me, then," says Eponine pleasantly. "I need to go punch him so hard that he sees the Raft of the Medusa." And with this, she walks briskly away, leaving Valjean, Cosette, and Marius gaping in her wake. 

Montparnasse turns out to be sulking in the bathroom, nursing a bruise on his jaw. When Eponine comes in, he turns away dramatically, pouting like an actual child. 

"Go away."

"You tried to steal an expensive painting, you fuck,” says Eponine, ignoring him. "What the hell were you thinking?"

Montparnasse sticks out his lower lip. "I liked it."

"So you decided to steal it instead of commissioning Grantaire to make a copy?"

"I wanted the original."

"That's probably not even the original. I bet that’s in the Louvre or something.”

"Then what's the problem?"

"The problem is that you're a fucking noodle,” says Eponine. "Now, do you want me to punch you, or will you go out there and apologize to the nice gallery owner?"

Montparnasse looks like he's actually considering being punched. Eponine really hopes he'll agree to it, but unfortunately, he finally makes a truly childish face, and lowers his head.

"Fine, I'll apologize. But I won't like it."

Eponine shepherds him back into the main gallery, making sure to keep a firm hold on his arm so he won’t try to make a break for it or anything (although this would be silly, because she can run much more quickly than he can). Once she spots Valjean standing in the middle of the gallery, talking to Enjolras, she makes a beeline for him, towing Montparnasse behind her like an unruly cat.

"...and that's why he must have made that decision," Enjolras is saying earnestly. "Please don't be too angry with him, sir, he just-- oh, hello Ep, hello Mont."

"Hello," says Valjean grimly. "I see you found our scoundrel."

"I'm not a scoundrel," Montparnasse protests. "I just love Delacroix. Stop pinching me, Ep!"

"See?" Enjolras nods as if this is a legitimate defense. "How can you be angry with a fellow art lover?"

Valjean doesn't look terribly convinced. He reaches out his hand. "Come with me, son."

"What're you gonna do, arrest me?"

"No. I'm going to talk to you."

Montparnasse looks even more horrified. "Ep, please don't let him do this!"

"Sorry, buddy. You brought it on yourself."

Valjean grabs Montparnasse and drags him out of the gallery, already starting on that lecture, if Montparnasse's expression is anything to go by. Eponine waves at his retreating back.

"Have fun."

"Did he really try to steal that Delacroix?" asks Enjolras excitedly at her elbow. "How did he do it?"

"Don't get your hopes up," Eponine says. "Remember, it didn't work."

"I'm just curious!"

"I can make you a copy," says Grantaire. Enjolras grabs his hand.

"Really?"

"Yeah, no problem."

"Oh my God, I love you...r um, artwork."

"You do?"

"I really, really do."

"So, how's everything been tonight?" Eponine asks, seeing that Grantaire is close to expiring. "Has anyone else done anything embarrassing?"

"Jehan got into an argument about the meaning of some painting," says Grantaire. "Enjolras and I watched the whole thing. It was spectacular."

"Why is that embarrassing?"

"Well, it was with the creator of the piece, you see."

Eponine winces. "Oh dear. I hope they weren't too offended."

"He called Jehan a pompous stuffed-shirt hipster wannabe with a puerile attitude and weird hair."

"Oh no."

"Yeah, Jehan kicked him."

Eponine looks around the gallery, trying to see if any self-important artists are sporting a limp. She can't pick anyone out, but she does see Feuilly talking to a group of important-looking people and gesticulating wildly, in a way that almost looks like...

"Oh shit, Feuilly's doing impressions."

Grantaire and Enjolras groan in tandem. "Can we stop them? Or is it too late?"

"I think it's too late."

The three of them look over, just in time to see the graceful curve of one black-suit's hand as they rear back and slap Feuilly hard across the face. 

"Jackson Pollock isn't pretentious," they scream, loud enough for the whole gallery to hear. 

Hurriedly, Eponine rushes over to extricate Feuilly from what might quickly turn into a bad (or at least worse) situation. "Hello," she says. "Sorry, I need to borrow this one. Have a lovely night. Okay, bye!"

"Jackson Pollock can eat dryer lint," Feuilly calls over their shoulder as Eponine tugs them away and back to safety. "And for your information, Lavender Mist is bug-ugly!"

"Feuilly," says Enjolras remonstratively, once they and Eponine have returned. "What have we said about doing your impressions for strangers? Or friends? Or anyone at all?"

"That I shouldn't?"

"Well, yeah."

"I don't care," says Feuilly mutinously. "I think my impressions are amazing. If I hadn't done Jackson Pollock, they'd probably be eating out of my hand by now."

Somehow Eponine doubts that, because no matter what Feuilly's intentions are, their impressions always end up offending someone, not because of actual offensive content, but because of their overly-opinionated nature. She just pats them on the shoulder, though, not arguing with them. 

"Don't worry about it. Have some more crab puffs."

"Cosette made them," says Marius dreamily, materializing at this apt juncture. He holds out a slightly squashed puff. "See how beautiful it is?"

"Marius," says Enjolras. "Have you been carrying that around with you the whole night?"

"Yes, is that weird?"

"Why don't you go talk to her?" suggests Grantaire, kindly not answering this probably-not-rhetorical question. "It'll be cute."

"But I don't know how!"

"I'll go with you, then. I'm good at flirting with pretty people."

 _Bullshit_ , thinks Eponine, recalling all the times Grantaire has gotten himself slapped, covered in drinks, or kicked out various bars, not to mention all the instances when he's offended Enjolras by trying to hit on him. However, she doesn't want to discourage Marius, so she waves them on their way.

"Good luck."

"I don't need luck," says Grantaire. "Come on, Marius. Let's go woo your lady."

"This will be a disaster," says Feuilly cheerfully. "It's not going to be just me who gets slapped tonight, just watch."

They might be right about this. Eponine watches, dismayed, as Grantaire swaggers up to Cosette, makes finger guns at her, and says something that she's glad she can't hear. Cosette looks at him, utterly unimpressed, and turns away. 

"Wait," Marius says, or trumpets, rather. He runs after her, leaving Grantaire behind. This is probably fortunate for him, but Grantaire comes back to their group looking miffed.

"I didn't even get to use my charms yet."

"I think it's best for all involved that you didn't," says Eponine, punching him on the arm. He snorts, but when Feuilly and Enjolras nod their agreement, he gives in.

"Fine. I'm going to go drown my sorrows by eating all the samosas in the damn establishment."

"There are _samosas_?"

"Not for long."

Enjolras and Feuilly make a beeline for the refreshments table, while Grantaire, just a little slower, ambles along behind them. Eponine is full (she's already had about fourteen plates of hors d'oeuvres), and she doesn't really feel like standing around and being associated with the people who are cleaning out all the snacks, so she turns and goes to find Combeferre and Courfeyrac, who are always good for a laugh.

"Hey," she says, finding them in front of a frankly hideous painting depicting, from what she can tell, an anime swordsman slicing a toilet in half. "What's this?"

" _The Death of Duchamp_ ," says Courfeyrac, wrinkling his nose. "I don't love it, I have to say."

"But Courfeyrac," says Combeferre, way too seriously, "Don't you see how deep it is? It really _plumbs_ the depths of human emotion."

Eponine nods along with em. "Yes, ey's right. It's _flush_ with meaning."

"You're both third-graders," says Courfeyrac loftily, which probably means he couldn't think of a bathroom-related pun. He points at the price tag on the painting. "Look, it's only fifty euros. How mad do you think Enjolras would be if we bought it and hung it in his living room?"

"So mad."

"Let's do it."

"Hell yeah."

With great luck, Eponine, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac locate the artist and thrust fifty euros into his hands.

"We want to buy the Duchamp one," says Courfeyrac. The artist preens.

"Ah, yes. That's one of my best works."

"It's wonderful," says Combeferre, somehow managing to sound sincere. "We're going to give it to my best friend. He's going to love it."

"Ah, a connoisseur of the finer things, is he?"

"You could say that."

"Well, please go ahead and take it. You can even bring it out to your car, if you're leaving, since the party's almost over and anyone who really counts has seen it already. I would offer to help you, but my leg is hurting quite a bit."

"Thank you so much," chorus Combeferre and Courfeyrac, while Eponine wonders briefly _why_ exactly the artist's leg is hurting. Together, they herd Eponine back to the painting, and with a heave and a haul, they lift it up. 

"Whose car do you want to put it in?" asks Combeferre.

"Mine, I think," says Courfeyrac. "You have Enjolras a ride here, didn't you?"

"Ah, right."

The three of them lift up the painting and carry it circumspectly out of the gallery, first making sure Enjolras's back is turned so he can be properly surprised. Courfeyrac insists on strapping it into the back seat of his car.

"I have to make sure it gets home safely."

"Why don't we take it back right now," suggests Combeferre. "We'll let ourselves into Enjolras's place and hang it up, and be gone before he gets back. And in the meantime, Eponine, can you distract him?"

Sometimes it's really useful having a plan-happy nerd like Combeferre on their side. Eponine is glad ey plays so many strategy games. "Sure thing," she says. "Just text me when you're done with the operation."

"I'm calling it," says Courfeyrac, reacting immediately to the word _operation_. "Let's see, I will name it... Operation Fountainhead."

Combeferre gives him a thumbs-up. "It's perfect. You're so smart, babe."

"You too, babe."

Eponine punches them both in the shoulder because this is her favorite mode of saying goodbye and anyone who says it's immature can get a real punch, and turns to go. 

"Operation Fountainhead, commence."

Combeferre and Courfeyrac wave her off. "Best of luck, agent."

It's easy to find Enjolras when Eponine gets back to the gallery, mainly because he's standing right in the center of the floor, giving an impassioned speech to about twenty or so awestruck listeners, including Grantaire, Feuilly, and Valjean. His eyes are glowing in that way that means he's talking about social justice, which means he'll be occupied for an indeterminate amount of time, so Eponine figures there's really no need to distract him. Instead, she wanders off to the refreshment table, angling to steal some food and bring it back home for Gavroche and Azelma. 

She's stuffing the last crab puff in her purse and wondering if it would be possible to smuggle away some crudités if she used a napkin, when she feels a hand on her elbow, and she whirls around, ready to lie. 

"Oh, hello, I was just--"

"No, please take as much as you want," says Cosette, amused. "I was actually just coming by to see if there were any more portobello sliders that I could steal."

Since Eponine isn't the biggest fan of mushrooms, the portobello sliders have remained untouched on their tray, and Cosette, grinning deviously, begins to scoop them up and put them in her purse, which Eponine can see is lined with aluminum foil. 

"These are my favorites," she says.

"You came prepared, I see," says Eponine, pointing at her ready-made food carrier. Cosette nods.

"Oh yes. I always steal a lot of food from these events, so I've taken to prepping a bit just to save my bags."

"That's smart," says Eponine, and then, "You go to a lot of events like these, then?"

"Yup, all my life," says Cosette cheerfully. "It's because of my dad, you know."

Eponine does know. After Grantaire had mentioned Valjean, she'd done some research of her own, and found out that he's very, very famous indeed. Grantaire's blasé attitude regarding this job had probably been a cover for real excitement at getting to work with such an important person. 

"You must see a lot of the fancy life," she says. Cosette shrugs.

"I suppose, but between you and me, these things can be fairly boring. That's why I'm so glad that you and your friends came tonight-- you really livened things up."

"That's one way of putting it," says Eponine dryly. "I hope your dad doesn't decide to ban us from the place forever now."

"He won't. I think he likes you all."

"Really?"

"Oh, yes. Otherwise, he probably would have asked you to leave long ago."

Eponine laughs. "I suppose that's reassuring."

"I think so. And between you and me, it's probably good for Grantaire."

"So we actually helped him by coming?"

"You sound so surprised."

"Well... you've seen my friends."

"I'd love to see more of them, too." Cosette's voice is warm. "Please keep coming by the gallery and-or the center! It would be lovely to get a chance to properly talk with you all."

"We will," says Eponine, and she finds that she really means it. This, she thinks, as Cosette grabs the remainder of the leg of ham and shoves it into her bag, could be the start of something truly beautiful.

\--

Everyone signs up for summer art classes.

Grantaire is nonplussed, mostly because he's tried to teach some of them to draw before with poor results, but Eponine can tell he's also pleased. He's so fond of his friends, and he gets so ridiculously sappy when they show him any sign that they care about him (which happens often-- Eponine isn't sure if she's ever met a group of people as cuddly and loving as their friends). Still, he seems to be nervous. On the first day of classes, he shows up at Eponine’s apartment, asking her what to wear.

“Should I go for the scholarly look? Or the bohemian artist? Or maybe I should go in the buff? Be a nude model, you know.”

“Enjolras would like that,” says Eponine slyly. Grantaire turns purple.

“That’s inappropriate!”

“I think you should wear what you would normally wear for painting,” Eponine tells him. “Don’t try to wear anything that would make you uncomfortable, you know?”

"I can't help but be uncomfortable. Did you know I haven't even touched my sketchbook in weeks?"

"I know. You've told me."

"So how am I supposed to teach an art class?"

Eponine doesn't really know what to say. She's not the best with this sort of thing. Briefly, she considers calling up Cosette and asking her for one of her touchy-feelie heart-to-heart advice sessions, but just as quickly, she decides against it. This is something Grantaire is insecure about, and he's coming to _her_ , not anyone else. She needs to be here for him and do the best she can.

"I think that's okay," she says. "You know, these people are all beginners."

Grantaire looks skeptical. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"They can't see your art block. All they can see is a real artist, one who's produced his own works, and knows how to draw things besides three-legged tables and anime eyes. They'll be impressed with whatever you do."

"You think so?"

"Yeah, I really do."

“Good talk.” Grantaire, looking more touched than he probably wants to let on, holds up a plastic trash bag of clothes, probably containing every single clean outfit he’d had in his closet. “So, can you help me pick something out?”

An hour later, Grantaire and Eponine have arrived at the art center. Valjean and Cosette are there already, as is Enjolras, who is sitting on a table and talking to them about gerrymandering. They all wave cheerfully when Eponine and Grantaire come in. 

“R,” says Enjolras. “Will you back me up here?”

“Probably not,” says Grantaire. Enjolras doesn’t look very pleased with this.

“I just wanted to confirm a statistic! Don’t tell me you doubt those, too?”

“Numbers can be manipulated,” says Grantaire solemnly. Enjolras sighs.

“Yes, but in this case…”

“It’s all right, boys,” interrupts Valjean. “I believe Enjolras, with or without a verified statistic, and I admire Grantaire’s healthy skepticism. But now I have to start setting up for the class. Grantaire, could you help me?”

“Sure.”

Grantaire and Valjean go off to set up the studio. Enjolras, always wanting to be helpful, follows after them, asking for something to do. 

“I can wash paintbrushes or something!”

Cosette turns and smiles at Eponine. “I’m glad to see you came.”

“We all signed up,” Eponine tells her. “Even Montparnasse.”

“The one who tried to steal the Delacroix?”

“Yup.”

“Didn’t my dad scare him away?”

“Apparently, he gave him a lecture on morality,” says Eponine. “It made such an impression on him that he decided to set himself on the straight and narrow after that. He came to my apartment at 2 in the morning and told me all about it.”

Cosette whistles. “Wow, I can’t believe my dad had such an influence!”

“Don’t be too impressed,” says Eponine. "He went back to his old ways the next day."

"Still, that's wonderful that my dad planted the seed in his mind. Maybe he'll keep thinking about it as he goes about his life!"

It's amazing how truly optimistic Cosette is. She's like sunshine. Eponine wants to talk to her some more, but at this point, some of the people who are taking the class come in, including Combeferre and Courfeyrac. They spot Cosette and Eponine and come over, waving hello.

"I'm glad we're not the first ones here," says Combeferre. "I was worried that we'd have to sit here and greet people as they came in."

Eponine isn't sure why this would be a job that would fall to them, but she just smiles at them both. "I'm glad you came."

"I'm so excited," says Courfeyrac, bouncing up and down on his toes. "Can you believe I've never asked Grantaire to teach me to art before? I can totally become a master with his teaching!"

Combeferre nods, staid as always, but with a glint in eir eyes. "I'm excited, too. I hope he teaches us how to draw trains."

"I don't think he will," says Cosette, but Combeferre isn't swayed.

"Trains are inherently artistic. I think any art class would be happy to study them."

By this time, several other people have trickled in, and Valjean decides to call the class to order. He claps his hands, and immediately, everyone stops what they're doing and looks at him. It's rather impressive. Eponine wishes she had that ability. 

"Good afternoon," says Valjean. "Thank you so much for coming today! My name is Jean Valjean, and this is Grantaire, and we'll be teaching you today."

Grantaire waves awkwardly at the assembled students. "Heyo."

"The only materials you will need is a sketchbook," Valjean resumes. "Classes are informal, so please don't worry about attendance, or grading, or anything like that. All that matters is that you try your best. And so, are we ready?"

The class murmurs their assent, not very loudly, it's true, since it's just the beginning of the first class, but they do make noise. Eponine thinks this is impressive. Valjean does have a certain cool aura to him.

"Let's start," says Grantaire, finally having centered himself at the front of the room. He looks at Valjean. "Did you want to give the first lesson?"

"No, you do it, son."

"Are you sure?"

"Quite."

"Well, then." Grantaire clears his throat a few times, scratches his head, looks around the room, and finally speaks. "Okay, so. Let's start with the fundamental basics of drawing..."

Grantaire is a good teacher. He's already taught Eponine the rudiments of drawing, so she doesn't need to pay as close attention as her classmates, but it's still interesting to hear what he has to say. Somehow he manages to be both engaging and informative, and several times, he cracks a joke that has the whole class laughing. All in all, it's a good class. Eponine is so proud of him. 

"You did great," she says, once class has finished and everyone is packing up to go. Grantaire rubs the back of his neck with a charcoal-stained hand.

"You think so?"

"Definitely. Everyone loved it."

"Really?"

"Grantaire, I loved it!" calls Enjolras, springing up to them. He grins back and forth at Eponine and Grantaire. "Guys, this was so much fun!"

"I'm glad," says Grantaire. "You know, you did pretty well, too."

"Do you really think so?"

"I do. You have a lot of talent."

Enjolras beams in bright, pure happiness. Then, suddenly and inexplicably, he darts away. Eponine laughs at him, bemused. 

"He's a funny one."

"I love him," says Grantaire conversationally, as if he was just discussing the weather. Of course, this makes sense, because Grantaire's feelings are so ever-present that everyone takes them for granted now, even him. (Enjolras doesn't, though, which is a source of wonder to all their friends)

"I know you do. But you love me, too." Eponine grabs Grantaire's shoulder and shakes him like a football coach. "Hey, Mr. Workingman, how bout you buy me some tacos?"

"All right," Grantaire agrees, with all the ease of the newly-moneyed. They wave goodbye to all their friends (Grantaire doesn't get paid enough to want to treat them, too), and head out, arm-in-arm.

"I'm really glad the class turned out so well," Grantaire says over his fifth extra-large pork and beef taco. 

"You knew it would," says Eponine with her mouth full. "I mean, come on. You've taught before."

"I've taught kids. I feel like that's not the same."

"It's kind of the same. I mean, adults are just big kids, right?"

"Some more than others," says Grantaire. Eponine knows he's probably thinking of the suburban PTA-mom-and-soccer-dad combo who'd sat in the front of the room and refused to work with anyone but Valjean. She flicks a sprig of cilantro at him.

"You know there's some in every bunch. Don't take it personally."

"Oh, I don't. I'm just happy that everything turned out kinda good."

"More than kinda. I'm pretty sure mostly everyone will come back next week."

"Our friends probably will, anyway," says Grantaire with a laugh. "I can't believe you all signed up."

"Of course we did. We want to support you all the time."

"Sap."

"Asshole."

They grin at each other across the table, easy camaraderie born of years of friendship. Eponine thinks of how lucky she is, here, happy, with her best friend, having just finished a _community art class_ of all things, taught by said best friend. This is all she could ask for.  

"I can't wait for the next class," she says.

\--

Classes start picking up speed after a week or so. Valjean quickly learns how experienced Eponine is with drawing, and commandeers her to help teach the others, especially her friends, who, with the exception of Feuilly and Jehan, are supremely slow to learn. Even Combeferre, with all eir scientific interest, can't seem to make the lines go where ey wants them to. 

"It's difficult," ey complains after another botched apple. "How am I ever going to draw a train at this rate?"

Still, everyone is enthusiastic and excited, and they all spend the classes talking and joking with each other, and their classmates. Eponine, too, begins to make friends with the people around her, with the exception of the PTA-mom-and-soccer-dad, who still haven't warmed up to anyone but Valjean. She and Cosette even invite two of the girls, Irma and Floréal, out for coffee at the Musain one day. It's surprising. Who would have ever thought that she, jaded, cynical Eponine, could ever come out of her carefully-constructed shell? Her world really is changing. 

Grantaire's world seems to be changing, too. With the new addition of responsibility in his life, he's slowly becoming more confident, and less pessimistic. Eponine rejoices to see this change working away in him; she's glad he's realizing that he really can do real and important things. He's begun to work on his own projects, too, just a little bit, it's true, but whenever Eponine goes over to his apartment, she sees open sketchbooks and half-done canvases leaning up against the walls-- and they're never the same twice. 

"It's amazing," she tells him, in an unguarded moment. "You've been working so hard to overcome your art block, and here you are, inspired again."

She wouldn't have said this to anyone else. It's too blunt, too on-the-edge-of-being-condescending. But Grantaire knows her well enough to know that she's being sincere, and he grins, face lighting up like one of Van Gogh’s sunflowers. 

"Thank you! I'm really proud, actually. I know it's not much, but..."

"It is," says Eponine. "Don't discount yourself. What you're doing is awesome."

"You're the best, dude." Grantaire opens his arms wide. "C'mere."

They hug for just a minute, before Grantaire gets embarrassed at having been all emotional and turns away with some lackluster pun about the right to bear arms and bear hugs. Eponine doesn't make fun of him for it, though. She knows how it can be.

\--

"I have an idea," says Valjean, three weeks into summer art classes. Eponine looks up from her drawing of an abstract cow.

"Yeah?"

"You know, Grantaire has helped us so much, and done such an amazing job as manager for the center, so don't you think it would be nice to make something for him as a thank-you gift while summer classes are still in session?"

Eponine can't believe she hadn't thought of this idea herself. It's so perfect, just the right amount of sweet and emotional that will make Grantaire melt (though he'll try not to admit it). She smiles up at Valjean.

"That would be perfect."

"Great! So I was thinking we could give him a day off, and just do it then. How would you feel about covering for him on that day?"

"I wouldn't mind. Since I'm not back in school yet, I have plenty of free time."

Valjean gives her one of his rare smiles and claps a thick hand on her shoulder. "Thank you, dear. I knew I could count on you."

It's nice to be depended on like this, and even nicer when the depender is someone like Valjean. Eponine makes up her mind to do the best she can and make sure the center runs smoothly while Grantaire is away. This is going to go so well.

Two days later, Eponine leaves her apartment bright and early to head down to the center. Grantaire, who'd stayed the night, waves half-heartedly at her from underneath a pile of blankets on her floor.

"I'll see ya later!"

"See ya," she says, trying not to wish she were also wrapped up in blankets and ready to go back to sleep, and heads down to her car.

To her only-sort-of surprise, Enjolras, Feuilly, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and Joly are already at the center when she arrives. All of them, even Enjolras, strike nerdy musical theatre poses and do jazz hands when she comes in.

"Welcome, Eponine!"

"What are you doing here?" she asks, handing Joly back his cane, which had dropped in his zealous Broadway dancing. Joly waves the cane around his head.

"We are assisting you!"

"Assisting me?"

"Yes! We know you'll do great on your own, but we wanted to make sure you didn't get too stressed, since you've never had an art job before."

"Neither have any of you. Except maybe Feuilly. I don't know what jobs they've had or not."

"I have," says Feuilly genially. "It wasn't like this, though."

"But you see, that's why we're all here," says Enjolras. "You see, you've never had a job like this, and we haven't either, so our small bits of experience will all stack up and build together!"

"Like a robot," agrees Combeferre.

"Yes, just like a-- really?"

"Oh yes, you know some robots can be built out of other robots."

"That's the coolest! Wait, that sounds like a metaphor for democracy. Tell me more!"

"Anyway," says Courfeyrac, as Combeferre begins to explain some strange form of robot physics that doesn't seem technologically possible, "I brought cookies, stickers, magic markers, and glitter, and Feuilly brought their huge box of art stuff, and Enjolras brought a whole bunch of political pamphlets for some reason, so I think we're ready to rock'n'roll!"

"I have a pencil sharpener," offers Joly, holding it out like an offering. Eponine pats him on the head like a cat.

"Thank you for that."

“I’m excited,” Courfeyrac goes on. “It’s really cool that we’re going to be doing this! I feel like an actual artist now.”

“Did you not feel like one before?” asks Joly.

Courfeyrac shrugs. “Yeah, but now it’s even better.”

“You know,” says Feuilly. “I’m really excited for this, too. It’s going to be a lot better than my last art job, that’s for sure.”

Eponine looks at them with not a little trepidation. “What was your last art job?”

“Butt painting.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah, it was weird. And I only made minimum wage.”

“I would think you should make more than minimum wage for that,” says Joly thoughtfully. “I mean, if you consider all the germs you might be exposed to…”

“I was exposed to something, all right.”

“I think this will be better,” says Eponine. “You know, since we’re making something for Grantaire.”

“Hell yeah!”

"What are we making, anyway?" asks Combeferre, apparently done with eir robotics lesson for now. 

Eponine looks at her friends. "Does anyone have any ideas?"

Immediately, the room explodes with shouting, everyone competing to be the loudest as they let their ideas fly.

"Something glittery!"

"Something political!"

"Robots!"

"I think we should draw something abstract," says Feuilly, effectively cutting through the mayhem. "That way, if it looks terrible because we're bad at drawing, we can pretend it was on purpose."

"What would we do without you, Feu," says Eponine. "Okay, let's make something abstract."

"Can we still put glitter on it, though?"

"Yes, Courfeyrac."

"Hell yeah!"

Valjean comes out of his office at this point, and doesn't look too surprised to see everyone there. He just nods to them all and greets them by name, welcoming them to a day at the center, and expressing his gratitude at them all coming.

"It's so thoughtful of you all to be here."

"It's no problem, says Courfeyrac. "We're just glad to help out."

"You're all such good, kind children."

Eponine isn't sure that they qualify as _children_ anymore, but it's a sweet thing to hear nonetheless. Valjean is so much like what a dad is probably supposed to be, and it's amazing. No wonder Cosette turned out so well.

"Well, let's get to work," she says. "What's the first thing we need to do?"

As it turns out, Grantaire's job really doesn't require six people. It involves a lot of sitting around and waiting for something to happen, or for people to come in, and after an hour, Courfeyrac and Enjolras are bored.

"Should I go out and yell on the street corner?" asks Enjolras. "Maybe that would attract people to come in here."

"Or you could just flirt with them," suggests Courfeyrac. "I'm pretty sure that would work on most people."

"Would it work on you?"

"Duh."

Enjolras looks like he's really considering it. Feuilly shakes their head at him. "No, Enjolras. We're not selling you out."

"I don't mind!"

"Still no."

After awhile, Eponine starts drawing on her phone. She's never been happier that she has an Android; using a stylus is so much easier than trying to use her finger, like poor Combeferre is doing. 

"I can't get the lines right," ey keeps saying mournfully.

"Are you planning R's gift?" asks Courfeyrac, coming up to stick his face in front of Eponine's phone. "Ep, you should plan his gift!"

"I _am_ ," Eponine tells him, and pushes on his curly head to get him out of the way. "Why don't you go entertain Enjolras? He looks like he's about to start passing out those political pamphlets."

"Nothing wrong with that," calls Enjolras. Eponine shakes her head at him.

"Buddy, this is neither the place nor time."

"What are you saying? Art is intensely political!"

"Okay, but you're supposed to be working. Why don't you go mop the floor or something?"

Grumbling, Enjolras goes over to the broom closet and starts taking things out of it. He begins to line them all up on the floor.

"There's one. There's another one."

"What the fuck are you doing?" inquires Eponine. 

"I'm looking for mops."

"None of those are mops, you dingus."

"But I could use them in a pinch."

Eponine groans. "How do you live?"

Eventually, Enjolras finds a real mop and starts to do the floors. Courfeyrac tries to help him, but since mopping is really a one-man job, he hinders the process more than anything else. Still, it's funny to watch the two of them going at it. They really are a hilarious duo, even when they’re not trying to be.

It's only about an hour more until the art class starts, when Valjean comes out of his office with a giant canvas and a box of paints. 

"This is for you," he says. "Or rather, for Grantaire."

"You want us to paint on _this_?"

"Why not?"

"It's so nice. What if we mess it up?"

Valjean shrugs. "That's not the end of he world. I have more."

Enjolras comes over to the canvas and puts his hand on it appraisingly. "Yes, this is a good one. Very choice."

"How do you know?" asks Joly, probably thinking that he can legitimately tell. Enjolras tries to look authoritative. 

"It feels nice."

"Enjolras," says Valjean kindly. "This canvas came from a factory. It's not special."

"It feels special."

"That's because it's meant for our special, wonderful friend," says Courfeyrac. "It was destined for Grantaire, so therefore it's a really good canvas. Somehow, Enjolras was right!"

"Hey, what do you mean _somehow_?"

"Would you like to get started?" asks Valjean. "I was thinking you could start the painting, and everyone in the art class could help you finish it. Does that sound all right?"

"It's perfect," says Joly. "Let's go!"

It takes awhile to actually start working on the canvas. First, Combeferre and Feuilly have to measure it and take its dimensions, and then Courfeyrac has to baptize it with water drops from his bottle of Perrier, and then Enjolras has to give a speech to it to ensure that it will bless Grantaire when they give it to him. Finally, though, everyone's ready, and Combeferre picks up a brush to start.

"I'm going to make a line," ey says.

Breathless with anticipation, everyone, even Valjean, gathers around the canvas to watch em work. Ey dips the paintbrush into the van of green, then slowly, very slowly, lifts it up, and dashes a bright line across the very center of the canvas. Immediately, Courfeyrac shrieks.

"No! It's terrible!"

"It's not terrible," says Combeferre, and then, "is it?"

"It's a little terrible," says Joly, but Feuilly smacks him. 

"No, it's beautiful."

"I like it too," says Enjolras. "It's bold. It's cool. It's very Grantaire."

Eponine isn't sure about it herself, but she knows her friends are liable to derail themselves completely if they get caught up now. So she takes her own paintbrush, dips it into the can of red, and draws her own dash, perpendicular to Combeferre's.

"There. Complementary colors."

For some reason, this makes Enjolras blush. He grabs a paintbrush and starts scrubbing furiously away in the corner. After a second of just watching him, the others join him, and before too long, the canvas is on its way to being covered. It’s not a minute too soon, either, because by now, people are coming in for the afternoon art class. They all look at the canvas as they come in, although Courfeyrac does his best to shield it from prying eyes, insisting that it needs to be a surprise. 

Once class has started, Valjean shows the half-finished canvas to the room at large, and invites everyone to take turns coming up to paint on it. They all do, admiring Courfeyrac’s glitter work and Combeferre’s wonky train (or what ey claims is the “mental representation” of a train), and by the time class is finished, the painting is done.

It’s not very pretty, by any means. Feuilly had been right to suggest an abstract piece, because no one can really paint well enough to make it as objectively beautiful as Grantaire deserves. But there’s a lot of heart in it; even the most casual glance reveals that it was created with love and kindness, a special piece made for a special friend. Eponine knows that Grantaire will love it. 

Eponine and the others are packing up for the day, easily, because all of their friends have stayed behind to help, and Valjean is puttering around his office, probably filing paperwork, when the doorbell jingles, and a very familiar voice calls out a greeting. Eponine jumps off the table she was sitting on.

“Grantaire?”

“It’s me!” Grantaire comes in, bearing a box from his and Eponine’s favorite bakery. He sets it down on the table with a flourish. “Voila.”

Courfeyrac, Cosette, and Bossuet yell in delight and descend upon the pastries in the box. Eponine grabs one for herself, too, but fixes Grantaire with a suspicious look.

“What’s the occasion?”

“What, a guy can’t bring food for his friends?”

“I mean, I guess. That’s really nice of you.”

“Aw, well.” Grantaire rubs the back of his neck, abashed. “I just thought I would, you know?”

"We have something for you, too," says Enjolras, who doesn't seem to have any conception of patience. He bounces up and down on the balls of his feet. "Guys, can we show him?"

"Hell yeah," screeches Courfeyrac. He doesn't have any patience either, and this would be annoying only for the lack of drama, but Eponine loves him, and she doesn't mind. She goes into Valjean's office.

"Do you have the painting?"

"Ah," says Valjean, sitting up with a guilty face, paintbrush in hand. Eponine raises her eyebrows.

"What were you doing?"

"I was merely.... ah, that is. I was, well. Adding things."

"You were adding things?"

"Only a few. I didn't disrupt the artistic integrity at all."

"If anyone had disrupted the artistic integrity, it wouldn't have been you, a professional artist," says Eponine dryly. Valjean scratches his beard.

"Do you think so?"

"Duh. And it's really sweet that you wanted to add things. I'm sorry you didn't get a chance to before."

"It's quite all right."

At this point, Courfeyrac bursts through the door and throws himself dramatically onto the desk. "What's keeping you? We need to present le portrait!"

"It's not a portrait," says Valjean. "Do you know what a portrait is?"

"No."

"Ah, well. It's not this."

"Whatever! Let's give it to him!"

Valjean picks up the painting and carries it out of the office. He sets it on the table in front of Grantaire, who can't see it, because Combeferre and Joly are grabbing him and covering his eyes. 

"Here it is."

"Here what is?" demands Grantaire querulously. "It better be good, that's all I'm-- ohhhhhh."

Everyone looks at him anxiously. It's hard to tell what he's thinking.

"Do you like it?" ventures Joly.

Grantaire answers this by bursting into tears. "It's so much," he sobs. "So... so much!"

This doesn't answer the question at all. Eponine is tempted to poke him, just to see if he's okay, but before she can, he, in typical Grantaire fashion, starts to talk.

"Isn't art such a strange medium? It seems so material, paint and canvas, just matter and atoms. But in it, you can see a soul, a _psyche_ \-- it lives, my friends, and it lives a fuller, richer life than many people do. This art, ephemeral though it seems, lives on eternal, in the soul of artistry herself, a muse's child, an infant of the soul. This is truly what art is, is it not? It's soul made physical."

Everyone looks at each other. "Grantaire," begins Enjolras.

But Grantaire isn't done. "Oh, art! Is it not the truest medium for expression? Is it not the realest representation of human consciousness? How much can be said through art! My friends, even the humblest piece breathes and lives. We can see the stars through charcoal, can glimpse love and liberty in paint. How else do we express the inexpressable but through art? Art! You allow us to touch the heavens-- and the depths in a way that our frail human minds can barely comprehend. You give us expression, you..." Grantaire stops talking to blow his nose loudly.

"Okay," cuts in Eponine, before he decides to go on. "So does that mean you like it?"

"Like it? I love it, I... I'm speechless!"

"That's not quite true," mumbles Feuilly. Grantaire doesn't hear them.

"How did you do something like this? It's amazing! And for me, I..."

"Here's a tissue, son," says Valjean. Grantaire grabs it and mops his streaming eyes.

"Thanks."

"I'm so glad you like it," says Enjolras. "We really wanted to show you how much you mean to us."

"But do I mean... this much?"

"And more."

Grantaire reaches out his arms and runs at everyone, trying to wrap them all up in the biggest hug he can. He only manages to get Enjolras, Eponine, Joly, and for some reason, Valjean, but it's the thought that counts. Everyone else piles up around him, cuddling him tight. 

"We love you so much," says Eponine, deciding that it's okay to be sappy, just for now. "You're so precious to us, R, and we're beyond lucky to have you in our lives."

"I love you too," sobs Grantaire. "I really really do!" Eponine pats him on the back and kisses his cheek. This is a moment he'll probably remember for a long, long time.

It takes awhile before everyone can detach, but when they do, they're all emotional. Jehan and Bahorel are even crying. Eponine doesn't blame them, though; she's starting to feel a little teary herself, not that she would ever admit it. She pats the top of the painting.

"I'm glad we made this."

"Can I steal it?" asks Montparnasse, and then, when everyone glares at him, "I'm just kidding, geez!"

"I'm going to keep it forever," says Grantaire. "But there's just one thing."

"What's that?"

"What's its name?"

"Ah."

Everyone looks at each other. This is the one thing they hadn't thought of. Trust Grantaire to point it out, though.

"We thought you could name it," says Enjolras smoothly, after a pause. Grantaire puts a hand to his heart.

"Really? Me?"

"Yes. It's yours just as much as ours, so I think it would be fitting for you to have an input."

Grantaire looks like he's about to start crying again. He puts his hand on top of the painting, right next to Eponine's. 

"Then... I think I'll call it Light."

"Light?"

"Because you're the lights of my life."

Now Eponine really does start to cry. She quickly wipes away her tears before anyone can see, but Grantaire catches her, and gives her a smile. 

"I love you."

"I love you too."

"Then," says Grantaire, turning to address everyone, "Let's take this light home."

Courfeyrac whoops. “Party at Grantaire’s?”

“Party at Grantaire’s,” Grantaire confirms. Courfeyrac flies at him and throws his arms around him. 

“This is the best day ever!”

Eponine and Grantaire laugh at his hyperbole, but Eponine knows that in their hearts, they both sort of agree. Today is a special day, definitely. The best thing, though, is that there are going to be so many more days like this— bright, warm days full of love and light. That’s something to look forward to for sure. Eponine pats the painting once more, smiling. It’s truly aptly named. After all, there’s light everywhere in the world, if she knows where to look.

**Author's Note:**

> [tungl](http://synchronysymphony.tumblr.com)  
>  title from [x](https://theartstack.com/artist/willem-de-kooning/light-august-1947)


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